


All Baby Birds in the Nest, Please

by Whoops_my_hand_sLIPPED



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Batbrothers (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Children, Gen, Good Brother Damian Wayne, Good Brother Dick Grayson, Good Brother Jason Todd, Good Brother Tim Drake, Kid Damian Wayne, Kid Dick Grayson, Kid Jason Todd, Kid Tim Drake, Tired Parent Bruce Wayne, What More is There to Say Than That, bruce wayne's actual A+ parenting, same age au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25325692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoops_my_hand_sLIPPED/pseuds/Whoops_my_hand_sLIPPED
Summary: When Bruce Wayne rescued Dick Grayson from Juvie, he never expected to get a partner out of it.Introducing Robin!Healsonever expected to get three other children out of it.Introducing Jason, Tim, and Damian!Now, what on Earth is Bruce going to do with four nine-year-olds?More of an issue, what'sBatmangoing to do with four nine-year-olds?
Relationships: The Team (Young Justice) & The Robins, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 30
Kudos: 279





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Recently got into this fandom, and all of the fics I've read got me thinking a very important question:
> 
> If all the Robins make Burce go crazy all by their lonesome... what would happen if they were all there at the same time and at the same age?
> 
> a.k.a how Bruce became the Ultimate Dad.
> 
> Because in this story, the Robins get along like siblings and Bruce's parenting doesn't absolutely s u c k.

Bruce was in shock. The whole family, just… gone. All, he thought, except the kid. It had crushed him when he had laid eyes on that boy, brokenly wailing as he tried desperately to awaken his parents.  
Bruce shivered. Tonight had brought up so many bad memories, he knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight. 

Batman had a lot of work to do.

* * *

Something wasn’t right about that night. It was just a little notion in the back of his mind. There was no reason for the Graysons’ deaths to be suspicious, yet here Bruce was, sitting sullenly in front of his computer. There were no signs of foul play, just a run-of-the-mill accident. But there was something about this that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something just wasn’t sitting right with him, and he was going to find out what it was.

* * *

It had been months since the night at the circus, yet for some reason, Bruce just couldn’t get it out of his head. Just the look on the boy’s face, it wouldn’t leave him alone. It was so similar to— no. He couldn’t go back there. Finally, Bruce couldn’t stand it anymore. He looked up what had happened to the child.

* * *

“They threw him in _Juvie_ , Alfred! He’s just a boy! How could they do that to him?” Bruce was _fuming. How dare they do such a thing to a child._ He had to fix this. “That boy deserves so much better than that, Alfred. They can’t just-just stick him in _prison_ after his parents died.” He could only imagine what he would have done in that situation. 

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “And what, may I ask, are you planning on doing about that, Master Bruce?”

His mind was set. 

“Prepare a room, please. We’re going to get a new resident in the manor. “

…………………………………………………………………

Days passed, and suddenly Bruce was in possession of the papers to take in one Richard Grayson as his ward. 

The car pulled up in front of the detention center. It was a dreary place, cold stone walls, barred windows, nothing that would make the place in any way comfortable for children. The interior was no better. Everywhere he looked there was something that was cracked, chipped, moldy, or a combination of the three. The rugs (the few that there were) were matted and caked with dirt and filth, and Bruce even caught a glimpse of some sort of bug… creature… thing, making its way around the floor. 

He approached the office, a small space consisting of a desk and three doors. One door for entry, one to get into a small, separate room, and a third to get into the detention center itself. 

Bruce made his way briskly to the desk, the woman behind it looking up from her computer. “My name is Bruce Wayne, and I’m here to see Richard Grayson. I called earlier to arrange this?” The woman looked shocked for a moment, then seemed to clear her head.

“Right, yes. Grayson.” She pulled a radio out of her pocket. “Jonathan, can you get me Grayson from-” she glanced at the computer, “F16?” A man’s voice crackled back through, and the woman put down the radio. “It’ll just be a moment, sir.”

Bruce sat in a ratty-looking chair that was set against the wall. His papers crinkled in his grip, the only outward sign of his nervousness. _God, what was I thinking? How can I take care of a child when I can barely take care of myself? What if he finds out about Batman? Can kids keep a secret?_. He sat there, silently panicking until the door to the detention area creaked open. A tall, burly man stepping in, his expression looking as if he had smelled something supremely unpleasant. Bruce stood as the man stepped aside, revealing the reason he was there. 

Richard Grayson, the nine-year-old that had his family ripped away in a matter of seconds. Bruce could barely believe how small he was. The child barely came up to his waist. The boy looked incredibly suspicious as to why he was here, and he kept glancing nervously back at the door he came through. 

For some reason, Bruce had expected him to be more bruised. Aside from a few small bruises here and there, Richard looked exceedingly healthy, although on the rather skinny side. Bruce was relieved, though. No child deserved to be beaten up for no good reason. 

Bruce approached him. Richard looked on silently, judging him as he came closer. 

“Hi, Richard. My name is Bruce Wayne.”

* * *

Richard — Dick — seemed to be settling in nicely. He seemed shocked when he was given full access to everything in the manor. When the boy had shyly approached Bruce and asked for some gymnastics equipment, Bruce bought him everything he could find. Floor equipment, climbing frames, bars, you name it, and Dick used every single piece. Dick seemed to have energy that went on for days. Early on in the boy's stay, Bruce had accidentally switched his coffee with Dick’s hot chocolate. 

Never again. 

But besides restricted access to caffeine, there was almost nothing Bruce owned that Dick didn’t have access to.

(Besides Batman, of course. But Dick didn’t know about that)

(Or so he thought.)

Though he seemed to be taking the changes smoothly, there were times where Bruce would see him staring longingly out the window, his body hunched and curled into a ball. 

At other times, he seemed to be gearing up to tell Bruce something. Bruce pretended to not notice. But out of the corner of his eye, he could always see as Dick seemed to lose his momentum and back down, silently slipping out the door into the hall. 

Once he’d settled enough, Bruce (Alfred) decided it was time for Dick to start school. And thus, he was enrolled in Gotham Preparatory Academy. 

Bruce continued to spend as much time with Dick during the day as he could, and then at night Batman took flight. This was his life, and, to be honest, he liked it. There was life and a light to his days again, and he had even more reason to come home at the end of the night. But then again, nothing can ever stay normal in his life. 

That was why, when he came back to the cave one morning, he was almost unsurprised at the small boy gawking at the cave. _Almost_. 

The car rumbled to a stop, and Batman climbed out. Dick stared at him unblinkingly for what seemed like forever. Then in a burst of motion, the acrobat launched himself at Batman’s chest, catching on and climbing up and around to sit squarely on his shoulders. “You’re _BATMAN?_ ” Dick screeched. Bruce flinched a little at the noises directly in his ear. Dick practically had a death grip on Bruce’s forehead at this point, his arms wrapped solidly around and squeezing tight. 

“Yes, Dick. I’m Batman. Now, how about you come down from there and we can talk for a bit, yeah?” Dick seemed to shrink back a little.

“Did-am I in trouble?” he asked, his voice meek and subdued. Bruce hurried to reassure him, his chest tightening at the thought of his child being scared of him or what he would do. 

“No! No, chum, I just need to talk to you about what this means. I'm actually very impressed that you figured it out." And he was. While Dick preened, Bruce walked them over to the computer. He swung Dick down from his shoulders to plop onto his lap. Dick looked at him attentively, his head cocked slightly to the side. "Now," Bruce started, "You realize that you can't tell anyone about this, right? It could put both you and me in danger." Dick nodded vigorously. 

"I won't tell, I swear I won't!" Bruce chuckled.

"Alright, I'm just making sure, chum." Dick beamed. “But, you also realize that what I do is very dangerous, right?”

Dick nodded and said, “I know.” A pause. “Can I help?”

Did he not listen to a word that was just spoken? 

“Chum, it’s dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt out there.” Bruce gently started running his fingers thought Dick’s hair.

Dick looked up at him with big eyes. “But I know I can help! We- I can be your partner!”

Bruce cupped Dick’s face in his hands. “No, Dick. I don’t want you out there. You’re too young, too untrained. I can’t let you out there and knowingly endanger you like that.”

Dick got up on his knees, balancing precariously on Bruce’s legs. They were face to face now, staring into each others’ eyes. “But I don’t want _you_ to be alone, Bruce.”

Bruce’s heart stuttered.

Then the energy was seeping back into his child, who started bouncing. “And you can help to train me, and I’ve already got some idea of what to do from the circus — acrobatics is like fighting, right? — and I can help you save people!”

“Why?” Dick froze.

“What?”

“Why do you want to help me? What makes you want to help the people in Gotham? You could have a normal life, and not have to worry about everything that’s going on with the villains in Gotham.”

A flat stare was directed his way. “I’m a child from the circus that was taken in by a billionaire. What about that is normal?”

Fair.

“But, really, I want to help people because I want to get people justice. All the bad things that happen to people don’t need to happen, so if I can help to stop it, I want to. My p-parents… didn’t have to d-fall. They could have lived if only I had… done… something!” Dick was almost bawling now. “If I had just done something, or told someone about that _man_!” He dissolved into sobs, his little shoulders shaking and his breaths heavy and stuttering.

Bruce was alarmed now. _The man? What man? Was… didn’t the Graysons die because of an accident?_

He hugged the boy to his chest, starting up the hair petting again and rubbing circles into the boy’s back. Dick melted into the hold, his sobs continuing to shake his entire body. 

It seemed like hours later, but eventually, Dick’s sobs tapered off and his body seemed to mold itself to Bruce’s chest. Bruce kept up the soothing motions, trying to comfort the shattered child. For some reason, Bruce got the feeling that this was one of the only times Dick had truly let out his grief over his parents. And Bruce would do anything to help this boy through all of the troubles that faced him because of it.

* * *

Sometime later, Dick was lying limply in Bruce’s arms, dead asleep. Bruce had set him up and cradled him to his chest, his face resting in the crook of Bruce’s neck. Soft breaths of air puffed against his skin, warm and steady.

He gathered the boy into his arms and gently carried him out of the cave. He successfully made it to Dick’s bedroom without waking him up. He gently settled Dick in his bed, tucking the covers up around him with care. He brushed a soft hand through Dick’s hair and down his face. Dick unconsciously leaned into the hand, a slight smile gracing his face. Bruce smiled warmly at the sleeping boy, rubbing a small shoulder then quietly standing up. At the doorway, he ran into Alfred, who only smiled, patted Bruce’s shoulder and walked away. Bruce stood there for a moment, watching the boy in bed. Then he turned and made his way back to the cave. Batman was going to have a late night on the computer tonight. He had some investigating to do.

* * *

The next morning, Bruce was sitting at the table, calmly sipping a cup of coffee, when Dick ran into the room in a whirlwind of motion and papers. 

“Bruce! Lookit! I’ve got some designs for you!” he sing-songed. Bruce raised an eyebrow and glanced warily at the papers Dick thrust in his direction. From what he could see, there were… a lot of colors? He then began to make out the shapes the colors made, and — hold up, was that a suit? He whipped his head up to look at Dick, who was beaming and rocking back and forth on his toes. 

“So? Do you like it?”

Bruce hesitated. “It’s… bright.” That was all he could offer. In all honesty, it looked like a traffic light. And if, _if_ , this partnership was going to be a thing that happened, there would need to be some… modifications. 

For one, “Absolutely not,” he said, jabbing a finger at something on the page. Dick looked down at his drawing and pouted. 

“But I like the shorts!” he whined. “They let me move better, Bruce.”

Nope. It was absolutely not happening. Those shorts, plus the Gotham underground, equalled bad things that Bruce absolutely did _not_ want to think about. 

“No.” He was laying down the law, here. “We can change a few other things, too.”

Dick gasped, staring at Bruce hopefully. “So, you mean I can-?” he started to vibrate excitedly.

Bruce let a small smile cross his face. “We’ll see.”

More papers flew by his face as Dick whooped and ran through the room, laughing and bouncing off the walls. Bruce watched him go, thinking to himself, _I’m going to train that kid so hard, the criminals in Gotham won’t stand a chance. He’s not getting killed on my watch._

Because Bruce knew. He knew what it was like to want justice for someone you love. And after he carefully looked over all of his information, new and old, double and triple-checking everything, he could definitely say that the Graysons’ deaths were no accidents. And thus, he knew that Dick wouldn’t stop trying to go after the man until he was caught. 

So Bruce had two options. Leave Dick on his own to go after the man alone, and possibly get killed in the process. Or he could train him, teach him everything that Bruce knew, and help him take down the man that killed his parents, protecting him as much as he can while also allowing him freedom. 

Bruce knew which option would be better, both for Dick’s safety and for Bruce’s sanity. 

Two weeks later, Robin hit the streets for the first time.

Almost three weeks after that, Tony Zucco was being dragged off to prison, Batman and Robin standing on a rooftop nearby and overseeing it all. Robin leaned into Batman’s side and Batman draped a heavy hand on his shoulder in return. 

After the police had gone, Robin pried himself away from his mentor, going to stand at another part of the rooftop. He stood there, staring into the distance. Batman came up behind him, trying to see what his partner was staring at with such a forlorn look. And there! Off in the distance, Batman could see the detention center that Dick had been held in. He stepped forward and set a hand down gently on Robin’s shoulder.

“You’ll never have to go back there,” he murmured. “Not if I can help it.”

Robin sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just—” he cut himself off. Batman waited for him to pick up his line of thinking again, but Robin kept his silence. Batman patted his shoulder. If Robin wanted to keep quiet, he would let him.

“Come on, let’s head in. I think we’ve done enough for tonight.” Robin sent him a grateful smile.

* * *

Not even a full week after Tony Zucco’s arrest, Alfred came down to the cave during one of Dick’’s training sessions. 

“Master Dick,” he called. The duo in the middle of the room stopped their spar, Dick bounding his way over to Alfred. “It would seem that you have a letter, sir.” A slight downward tilt of his eyebrows was the only visible sign of his confusion. He held up an envelope that looks like it could have been white at one point but was now just a mess of dirt and grime. “A letter delivered by a man from the Gotham Juvenile Detention Center.”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up, then a spark of anger seemed to grow in his eyes. He went to storm his way to Alfred and take the letter, but taking a close look at Dick halted him in his tracks.

The boy seemed frozen, the blood draining from his face. The men believed he had frozen in fear and, in a way, they were correct. However, they were of the belief that it was a fear of going back. It was actually a fear of, ‘ _what could be bad enough that they wrote me a letter?_ ’.

He unfroze an instant after the last thought. He leaped forward, snatched the letter from Alfred’s hand, and bounded up the stairs, taking three at a time. The door at the top slammed to signify his exit, and then it was silent. The entire burst of motion had happened in an instant, barely a five-second window between the letter leaving Alfred’s hand and the door slamming shut. 

Bruce went to follow the boy, but Alfred laid a gentle restraining hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps it would be best to give him a moment alone, Master Bruce. He seemed quite distressed.” Bruce was tense for a moment longer, wanting to run after the boy he’d come to care so much for, but he reluctantly backed down.

* * *

Bruce cautiously approached Dick’s room. It had been not yet an hour since he had gotten a letter from the detention center and sprinted out of the cave. 

Standing outside of his room now, he could hear the boy’s faint sobbing, even through the closed door. He rapped his knuckles gently against the wood.

“Dick?” he called. “Can I come in, chum?” 

A faint sniffle came from inside. “I- sure. Yeah, you can come in.” There was no emotion in his voice. It was the flattest Bruce had ever heard the cheerful child sound. 

Bruce opened the door, taking in the scene inside. Dick was sitting on his bed, curled up in a ball up near the headboard. His face was red, his eyes puffy. There were tear tracks carving their way down his face, and once Dick set eyes on Bruce, his lip wobbled and a fresh wave of tears sprung from his eyes. It was hard to see him as anything other than a child when he held his arms out desperately, practically _begging_ Bruce to go hug him and comfort him. So, hug him he did. 

In an instant, he was next to Dick, enveloping the small boy in his arms and cradling him to his chest. Dick’s body was shaking with sobs, and Bruce was eerily reminded of that day in the cave, cradling the boy as he finally let out his grief about his parents. As he held his ward, he spotted the letter on the bed, the envelope torn open and crumpled but the letter in pristine condition. Or, as pristine as it could get. Bruce needed answers.

_What had caused Dick to break down like this?_

“Dick, chum. What’s wrong? What happened?” he prodded gently. The boy sniffled, and his body started to shake harder as he began to wail.

“It’s my fault!” he screeched, breaths hitching. _What?_ “I left them alone and now they got hurt!” _Who was he talking about?_

“Dick, what are you talking about?” Bruce asked, his voice as gentle as can be. It was no use though. Dick devolved into heavy sobs, shaking his head and rubbing it into Bruce’s shoulder. 

Bruce reached over, keeping one arm around Dick, and picked up the letter. As he unfolded it, Dick whispered into his shoulder, “We gotta help ‘em, Bruce. We just gotta.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like an easter egg hunt, Bruce is out collecting

_’Dickie, I just wanted to let you know. We got too sloppy, and now those boys are back. Those bastards put Timmy in the hospital, and now I’m afraid something’s gonna happen to Dami. He’s pissed at them, and I don’t know how long I can hold him back. Hell, I can barely stop myself sometimes. I’m sorry, Dickie. I shoulda protected them better. FIND TIMMY, GET HIM OUT.  You gotta get him out. Somehow._

_Bye Dickie,_

_Jay’_

Bruce stared in shock at the letter. There were other boys in the center, ones that Dick had made friends with. And now one was in the hospital?

When he considered the letter more thoughtfully, he realized that no child that was around Dick’s age would have this nice of handwriting. Not unless it was practiced meticulously (which he honestly doubted. Children don’t usually practice writing religiously). So, who had written it? Just another question to add to his stack/ 

Dick had calmed down a bit now, so Bruce felt a little safer asking some of his questions. 

“Dick, can you tell me about these boys from the letter?”

Dick sniffed and wiped his nose with his arm, sitting up in Bruce's hold.

"When I got there a few months ago, they threw me in a cell with three other boys in it: Jay, Timmy, and Dami. We're all pretty much the same age, so we figured that’s why we got put together. Jay, he was so nice to us. He always hit any of the other kids that were gonna hit us. Me and Jay did our best to keep Timmy and Dami safe because we were the biggest." Dick sighed, looking off blankly to the distance and curling his legs close to his chest. Bruce held him a little tighter. So, the first kid was violent. Bruce didn’t know how violent, but he figured that it wouldn’t matter _too_ much if they weren’t in prison and he didn’t hit the other boys. Dick continued, dragging Bruce away from his mental note taking.

"Timmy is the kind of person you'd least expect to have been in a place like that. He's so small and shy. But Timmy’s so freaking smart!" Dick's eyebrows scrunched. "He was the first in, I think, out of the four of us.” Hm. How did a kid like that end up in child-prison? 

"Dami is a little complicated. I don't know his whole story, but I know that his mom was horrible and put him through some sort of weird conditioning-training thing that really affected him. He has the angry-fighty-violency type of protectiveness when you get to know him, though. And I didn't really believe it at first, but he hits worse than Jay if he wants to. He can be a brat sometimes, but he’s _our_ brat." Dick whined. Another violent one. At least they all seem to get along well with one another. 

Dick started to sniffle again, his eyes starting to water. "We had a-a system. It made all the other kids leave us alone. I hold back Dami from killing people, me and Jay would scare everyone off, and Timmy was the one that made friends with one of the guards so that we'd have something to fall back on if the two of us couldn’t handle it. If that didn't work, we told 'em that we'd sic Dami on 'em and, before we had the guard, that would always convince them to stop. No one bothered us for months." The tears started falling from his eyes. "But now I left, and I screwed it all up. It took all of us to make it work, but now there's only three and now Timmy's hurt and it's _all my fault!_ " 

Dick buried his head in Bruce's chest again, the shaking sobs restarting. Bruce held him tightly, rubbing a soothing hand across his back. He looked up and saw Alfred standing in the doorway, eyes misty. Bruce was shocked to realize that there were tears starting to burn at his eyes as well. He and Alfred met gazes, and Bruce knew what he needed to do.

* * *

The next week was a blur of comfort and paperwork. Bruce did everything he could to keep it all mostly a secret, because he wasn’t entirely sure he could get all of the paperwork and permissions and he didn’t want to disappoint Dick. It was more difficult than he’d expected, though, because his bird was poking his head into all of Bruce’s papers at all times. Bruce resorted to hiding all of his papers in his sock drawer for now, but he knew that that hiding place would only last for so long when put up against a curious little bird. He was also able to wheedle a little more information out of his ward halfway through the week about the letter. 

“Oh, that? They probably got Alex to write it for them. He was one of the only guards that we could really trust to help us.” Interesting.

A few quick checks on each of their records showed (supposedly) how each of the other children had gotten there. Bruce needed to know what he was getting into before he was in it and it kicked him in the ass. 

Jason Todd, 9, in for theft. Pretty much homeless before he was picked up, no parents found in his written ‘place of residence’. Thievery showed mostly food and car parts, presumably sold for money. 

Tim Drake, 9, in for continuously running from foster homes and some minor counts of trespassing. The official “acts out for no reason, disobedient, doesn’t listen” was complete bullshit if he went by Dick’s description, and he was much more likely to trust his nine year old ward than pretty much anyone else in Gotham. Bruce would have to look into the homes he ran from, and see if there was anything suspicious with them. 

Damian, 9. No last name given. Not there for any reason that Bruce could discern besides the fact that he’d shown up one day on the doorstep and that was apparently enough for him to get chucked in a cell in this godforsaken city. 

Bruce could barely contain his anger. Surviving, escaping potential abuse, and happenstance. The only reason those kids were imprisoned was because they were in Gotham, and Gotham was a nightmare to live in if you were young and alone. Anywhere else, and Bruce would bet that they would have gotten the help they’d needed. 

However, besides those few quick checks, Bruce did no other digging into their lives for two reasons. One, he had other things that desperately needed to get done, preferably as quick as possible so those boys would be safe. Two, he figured that he needed to help them build their trust in him, and he wasn’t going to break that trust before they even met by researching everything about them.

* * *

He got Tim’s papers together first. The second he had possession of them, a quick call to the hospital ensured that he stayed there instead of being sent back to the center. As he hung up, Bruce didn’t think he was imagining the relief in the nurse’s voice about that. The second the phone was put back down, Bruce was buried in paperwork again. 

Finally, it was the day.

Bruce herded a sleepy Dick to the car early in the morning. After he climbed in, Dick immediately laid his head on Bruce's shoulder.

"Where're we goin' at— uh, whatever-time-it-is o'clock in the morning? I was sleepin’," He asked, yawning. Bruce chuckled.

"One, it's eight-thirty, you should be awake by now. Two," he continued, speaking over Dick indignant 'it's Saturday!'. "Two, it's a surprise. You'll know when we get there." Bruce thought that that would be the end of it until they reached their destination.

It's like he didn't even know his child.

Dick wheedled and whined the _entire car ride_. Bruce was about ready to either tape the boy’s mouth shut or tear off his own ears, one of the two. But finally, they pulled into the parking lot of their destination. 

“The hospital?” Dick asked. Then he groaned, his body dramatically falling into his seat. “Are we doing one of your weird press things, where you go do nice things for people so that news people don’t hate on you even though you’re already literally too nice to everyone?”

Bruce shook his head and ushered the boy inside with a faint smile on his lips. “You’ll see,” he said. He left Dick in the lobby area to wait with Alfred before approaching the desk up at the front. After handing over all the necessary papers and confirming where to go, he gathered up his small family and led them to the elevator. But he kept a careful hold on three very important papers, two tucked gently into his pocket, ones that he didn’t let Dick see quite yet. 

“Bruuuuuuce, where are we goiiiiing,” Dick whined, hanging off of Bruce’s arm like he was nothing but a jungle gym. 

Bruce pat the boy’s head but let him continue. ”You’ll see.”

“Ugggh, you keep saying that but I wanna know, Bruce,” Dick moaned, letting the entirety of his body weight flop against Bruce. They left the elevator, Bruce practically dragging Dick down the hall and Alfred trailing serenely behind them. 

When he found the room he was looking for, a doctor was just closing the door behind her. 

“Oh! Mr. Wayne! You can go in if you’d like, he was just awake and talking with me. If you need anything just hit the call button and a nurse will be right by,” she told them, then turned and walked off down the hall, presumably to see to more of her patients. Dick was still looking at him with a face of absolute confusion.

Bruce opened the door and jerked his head towards it, giving Dick the go-ahead to enter.

“Bruce —?” Dick asked as he got his feet under him and entered, trailing off when he saw just who was inside.

There was a boy on the bed, staring at the people that just entered his room with shock and bafflement. His hair was a dark, silky black, and his eyes a dark violet-blue. Bruce thought back to Dick’s descriptions the week before, and he absolutely agreed that little Timmy was much too small. 

“Dick?” Tim’s voice was high, but soft like he wasn’t daring to hope that Dick was actually there with him. 

“Timmy!” Dick screeched, launching himself towards the bed. The two boys collided in a tangle of limbs, both of them crying and laughing. When they had situated themselves, Dick was sitting up against the headboard, clutching Tim to his chest and squeezing with all his might. Tim was no different, holding on to the older boy for dear life. Both had tears (of joy, hopefully) streaming down their faces, though Tim’s weren’t as forthcoming as Dick’s seemed to be. 

But even with the reunion, Bruce could see the way that Tim was favoring his left arm, and he was being careful about how much he moved his torso. Bruce had read the reports: dislocated shoulder, one cracked rib, and plenty of bruising covering his body. The detention center had none of the supplies needed to deal with his injuries, so they sent him to an actual hospital.

Bruce knew that this contact with Tim was something that Dick was in desperate need of, so he let them hug for as long as they could possibly want. When it seemed like they were becoming less intense in their squeezing, Bruce stepped forward more, coming to a stop beside the bed. He sat down in the chair and tried to make himself as unthreatening as he could to the boys in the bed. Bruce still caught a small flinch from Tim when he sat.

“Hi, Tim. I’m Bruce W—”

“Wayne,” Tim interrupted softly. “I know. You were my neighbor.” 

His neighbor? Ah-the Drakes. Bruce remembered when they were on the news. Jack and Janet murdered and their son left to go into foster care. Obviously, that didn’t work out too well, but it was no matter. They were here now. 

“That’s right. Tim, I took in Dick a few months ago, and now I’m here to give you the same offer that I gave him.” Both boys stared at him, Tim with confusion and a bit of suspicion, and Dick with surprised hope burning through his eyes. Bruce stared right back, straight into Tim’s shockingly intelligent-looking eyes. 

“If you want, you can come live with me and Dick and Alfred, as my ward. And,’’ he paused (he would never admit it, but it was for dramatic effect). The two boys stared up at him curiously, their eyes boring holes into Bruce’s head. He let a genuine smile cross his face. “I’m going to extend this offer to both Jason and Damian.”

Both of their little jaws _dropped_. “Seriously?” Dick asked, voice so incredibly quiet that Bruce wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken at first. 

Bruce nodded, reaching out a hand to lay on Dick’s forearm. “Absolutely.”

That one word was all it took to have Dick’s eyes brimming with tears again, the boy letting out a triumphant, barking laugh. He unwound one arm from around Tim and grabbed Bruce’s outstretched hand, dragging the man into the hug. He leaned his head in close to Bruce’s and whispered a soft “thank you,” in his ear. 

Bruce turned and pressed a soft kiss to Dick’s hair and whispered back, “You don’t need to thank me, not for this. Each of these boys deserves to be happy, and I am honored to be able to provide that opportunity for them.” Dick sniffed and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s cheek, then settled more firmly into his hug.

Over the course of the hug, Bruce noticed how Tim had gone from being tightly wound-up and stiff as a board to practically rag-dolling in his and Dick’s combined grip (Dick’s moreso). The small boy was nuzzled deep in their hold, though, Dick’s moreso, looking for all the world like he was absorbing the warmth they were giving off. In fact, now that Bruce was watching for it, the small boy seemed to be actively avoiding any contact with Bruce that wasn’t strictly necessary. 

Nonetheless, Bruce could easily see Tim fitting into their small but growing family, with all the ease of a puzzle piece sliding into place.

* * *

They were able to check Tim out of the hospital during their visit — his injuries weren’t enough to prevent them from doing so. Bruce was thankful, however, that the hospital staff were wary of letting him back into juvie with his injured ribs and so let him stay a few nights at the hospital in the beginning, therefore allowing Bruce the opportunity to get his papers and call in before they sent him back to that hellish place.

On the ride home, Tim had squished himself into Dick’s side, as much as he could with the seatbelts restraining them. The two boys talking about anything and everything, with Dick telling a majority of the stories and Tim quietly interjecting at different points. Bruce got a glimpse into just how wild Dick could be when he had someone his age around to interact with. They were in the middle of a (mostly one-sided) argument about appropriate toppings for waffles (and no, Tim, ketchup was _not_ one of them,) when they reached the branch-off of the road that led to what was once Drake manor. Tim had grown quiet, not even bothering to comment on Dick’s tales anymore. Dick just put a comforting hand on his shoulder then ruffled his hair before continuing his tale. 

When they finally made it to the manor, Dick immediately hopped out and, after waiting for Tim to clamber out, snatched up the smaller boy’s hand and held on like a leech.

“Tim, any belongings that you had would still be at the center, so once we get you settled here, Dick and I are going to go get them for you.” Dick gave him a betrayed look, even bringing out The Eyes to complete the pout. 

“But I wanted to hang out with Timmy today!” he whined. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Dick, I think that Tim’s pretty much going to crash while we’re gone. He’s had a trying week.” Both Dick and Bruce turned to look at the small boy, who was flushing sheepishly and scrubbing one of his feet along the floor. 

“I can do it later. If, well, yeah. If you want to do something then I can nap later.” Tim’s face was getting redder and redder with every word that came out of his mouth, while also getting quieter. By the end of even that small statement, Bruce was left with a tomato-colored child that was barely speaking intelligible words. . 

Dick’s eyes narrowed at the boy. “Nope,” he declared, gathering up Tim in his arms carefully. Despite being the same age, Dick had almost half a foot of height on Tim, and Bruce had noted from his chart that Tim was unusually light for his age. Tim squeaked as he was picked up, and Bruce couldn’t help but think the noise was absolutely adorable. The taller boy then began to cart Tim up the stairs, heading vaguely in the direction of the bedrooms. “You’re gonna sleep, Timmy, and then when you wake up we’re gonna have all your stuff for you and we’re gonna have so much fun together.” 

Bruce wandered up the stairs, following his wards as they made their way to Dick’s room. Tim was practically asleep in Dick’s arms at this point, his head lolling gently against Dick’s shoulder. The acrobat lightly kicked his door open, carefully maneuvering Tim through the doorway. Finally, their little journey came to an end as Dick carefully deposited his brother (brother! Bruce had _children_. As in, _plural!_ ) on his own bed. 

When Dick finally got free of Tim’s koala-grip on his neck, Tim immediately latched on to one of the nearby pillows, gathering it into a crushing embrace. Dick smiled fondly at the child on the bed, and Bruce thought that he had never seen his boy look so serene. Dick brushed floppy bangs off of Tim’s face and leaned down to press a careful kiss to his temple. 

“Goodnight, Timmy,” he whispered. “I’ll see you when we get back.”

He stepped away from the bed, then quietly bounded over to where Bruce was standing in the doorway. He said nothing, but grabbed ahold of Bruce’s wrist and dragged him back down to the main floor. Once they were out of earshot of Dick’s room, the acrobat let out a cheer and vaulted himself down the stairs.

“Come on, Bruce! We gotta go get Timmy his stuff! Maybe we can surprise him with what’s in there! I mean, I know _I_ didn’t know what those people had kept of mine.” At his last statement, Bruce felt his hatred for Juvie revive and thrust it’s way to the forefront of Bruce’s emotions. He tamped down on it, not willing to let that wretched system ruin what could be the best day of his life. 

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be surprised at what we bring home”

_Or rather, who._

* * *

Bruce left Dick with Alfred in the kitchen for a quick snack before leaving, while he made a phone call to that _hellscape_ to arrange things for their later visit. Bruce was trying his absolute best to not let Dick in on the secret of what exactly they were going to pick up, and the excitement was making him feel honest-to-god _giddy_. It was such a foreign emotion for him that he couldn’t help but smile when he felt it fluttering in his chest. 

He hung up the phone, gathered Dick from the kitchen, and then they were off. 

In the comfortable silence of the car (Dick was still eating a sandwich, which was the only reason for said silence), Bruce decided to just go for it. He needed to be more ‘fatherly’ anyway, so might as well start now. 

“You could have asked.” Well, that was helpful. Dick made an inquisitive noise at his guardian around his sandwich. “The other boys. You could have asked me to take them in at any time, and I probably would have done it.” Silence. Bruce stared aggressively at the road, the only visible sign of his tension being his hands clenched around the wheel. “If there was any chance to take innocent kids away from that… _institution_ , I would have gladly taken it. And, Dick,” Here, he paused. Took a deep breath. “I already care so much about you. I… _love_ having you live with me. If there was any way to make you happier, I would gladly take it. And I can tell that these boys mean so much to you.” Dick’s eyes were burning into his skull. He was still dead silent. “I am honored that you let me be a part of your family, and I know that the boys are also a part of that. Dick, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t lose your family again. That none of you do. And I know that I haven’t even met some of them, but I know that I will come to care about them just as much as I do about you.” It was silent for a moment more. “All you had to do was ask, and I would have done anything,” he finished quietly. 

If there had been crickets out in the middle of the day, that’s all that would have been heard. 

“Wow, B.” Dick’s voice was a cheery, teary mess. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak. You reach your word quota for the next five years, yet?” A quick glance to the passenger seat showed him a boy with an impish grin on his face, but with red eyes that spoke of held-back tears. But he sobered quickly. 

“Thanks, B.” he sighed. “These kids,—” _Kids? They’re all as old as he is!_ “— they’re my brothers, B. I don’t know what I’d do if I—” he trailed off. Bruce got it though. _What if they had never seen each other again?_ “So, yeah. Just— thank you.” 

More silence. 

A nudge at Bruce’s elbow. 

“You want some sandwich?”

What looked like half of Dick sandwich (classic PB&J, Alfred-style) was pressed against his hand, that was holding on to the _steering wheel of the vehicle they were currently in_. 

The smile was back in Dick’s voice, and Bruce knew exactly why. That little brat was holding the sandwich piece just right against his hand that no matter what he did, jelly was being smeared all across the back of his hand. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes, shooting a quick glare at the imp in his passenger seat, before twisting his wrist and snatching the sandwich piece from the nine year old’s grip. He shoved the piece into his mouth and before the boy could do anything about it, he blindly reached out with his jelly-covered hand and dragged it down Dick’s face. 

Bruce would have paid money to see the full expression that accompanied Dick’s undignified squawk, but alas, he also didn’t want to die via car accident. 

If they walked into the juvenile detention center cleaning traces of jelly off both of their faces, no one mentioned a thing.

* * *

As soon as Bruce walked through the door, the lady at the desk’s eyes widened, and she hurried to her feet. 

“Mr. Wayne, I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” she flustered. Bruce thought to himself, _it’s not like I called earlier or anything._  
The woman fumbled for her radio, calling Jonathan (who he remembered from his last _pleasant_ trip), and some other person to fetch the children. They obviously had something set up just in case Bruce _did_ actually show up, as they mentioned no names. Bruce looked down at Dick out of the corner of his eye, and the poor kid looked nothing but confused. Bruce showed nothing on his face, but inside he was mad-scientist cackling with excitement.

The woman bustled around her desk, pulling out a key from a desk drawer. She opened the door to a side room in the area and disappeared inside. She emerged holding a shoddy looking crate full of miscellaneous stuff, from what Bruce could tell. 

“I would usually have you sort through this stuff, but,” she shot a look at Dick, “I believe that that’s not necessary for your current situation.” She then thrust the crate at Bruce’s chest, and, after seeing some of the contents, he realized that they missed some of Dick’s old stuff. The other items in the crate were unknown to him. He was mildly concerned to see what looked like a knife hilt buried in the crate, though.

Suddenly, the other door in the room opened, and the man Bruce remembered as Jonathan pushed his way through. It didn’t escape Bruce’s notice that the second he caught sight of the man, Dick flinched bodily against his side. 

However, Dick tenseness drained out of him, replaced with disbelief in two seconds flat when he saw the person entering the room behind the man. 

“Jay?” he whispered, his voice hardly making it out of his throat with the shock. The other boy’s eyes grew practically to the size of dinner plates. 

“Dick?”

No other words were spoken. Time was at a standstill, with the children just staring in shock at each other. Then the moment broke as Dick screeched and launched himself at the other boy. 

“Jayjay!” he cried, throwing his arms around Jason’s neck and enveloping him in a suffocating koala hug. “Jay, you’re here! I can’t believe I get to see you again!”

Jason still looked like he thought he was hallucinating. Despite that, he absently locked his arms around Dick’s back. “Dickie! You’re...back?” All of a sudden his expression darkened. “Why are you back, Dick?” he pried the arms off of himself. “You aren’t supposed to come back, why are you back in this hellhole?” He was gripping Dick’s shoulders so hard his fingers were turning white. 

Dick looked panicked for a moment, then he remembered himself and calmly patted Jason’s hands. “It’s okay, Jay.” He looked slyly at Bruce, who immediately plastered on a look of complete innocence. Dick snorted. Okay, maybe he looked a little suspicious. 

“I think B has something to ask you guys. Plus,” he added on excitedly, “we’re picking up all of Timmy’s things!” 

Jason’s eyes shone with a hope that blew Bruce away. “You got him? You got him outta here for good?” Dick nodded, and Jason breathed out a laugh, and then another, and lifted Dick into the air, spinning him around with elation. 

Jason settled slowly, putting Dick back down and closing his eyes to taking a few deep breaths. “Timmy got out. You got out. “ He cracked an eye open. “Hold up, you said he wants to ask “you guys” something. You bringin’ in Pip, too?” Dick only smiled.

Jason let out another deep breath. “Holy Hell,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Pip? He’d need to ask about that one for sure. 

While Jason and Dick had their reunion, Bruce took the time to observe another one of the children he would (hopefully) take in. The first thing he noticed was that Jason was big. Not huge, but definitely larger than his other two boys, with all indications he would grow to be quite a tall man. He had dark hair, almost black but with a distinct red tint to it. As Bruce noticed the color of his eyes (an entrancing shade of teal,) he subconsciously winced. He also made a little prayer that Damian looked different than the others (he had yet to see pictures of either boy at this point). Bruce wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the media would come up with for his reasoning to adopt four children with black hair and blue eyes, that were all the same age. 

The other things that caught his eye about Jason were the bruises. There were glaringly purple-blue ones, melding into a sickly green around the edges, smack in the middle of his cheekbone and at the edge of his temple, and there were others dotted along both his arms. Bruce could only assume they came from the same fight that gave Tim his injuries. 

Speaking drew Bruce away from his observations. 

“Jay, where’s Dami?” Dick asked, looking around the room as if he’d missed a whole human entering. 

Jason suddenly looked sheepish. Dick only grew more worried. 

“Where’s Dami?”

His voice was panicky now, bordering on hysterical. It couldn’t be easy for him, knowing he was so close to having his family back and now finding out that it might be incomplete forever. 

Jason seemed to notice the panic, however, and he steadily reached out and grasped Dick’s hands between his own.

“Hey, it’s okay, Dickie, it’s okay. Dami’s fine. He’s fine, you’re fine, and I’m fine. And,” he added on. “I bet Timmy’s pretty stellar right now, too. You can relax, Dick. We’re all good.”

Dick took a few deep breaths. Once he seemed to calm himself down he cleared his throat a little. “Sorry. Where’s Dami, Jay?” he asked again, significantly calmer than he was a few minutes previously. Jason gave him a wry grin.

“Well, it was after Timmy went to the hospital. ‘Bout four days ago, Dami got a little pissed with some a’ the other kids here, but he handled himself. But, yesterday comes around, and somethin’ happened and that wonderful day ended with Dami beatin’ the shit outta the kids that attacked Timmy. Bitch in charge, over there,” his voice turning to a growl and jerking his head towards the woman who’s doing nothing to hide the fact that she’s eavesdropping, “Decided that Dami apparently needed solitary.”

 _Solitary confinement?_ On a _nine year old?_ Was this lady out of her mind?

...Was there even solitary confinement in Juvie?

“‘Course, there aren’t really any cells here for that, so they stuffed him in one of the cells furthest away from any and all life forms. It’s gonna take a bit to get ‘im all the way back here.”

Dick was fuming by the end of Jason’s explanation. But, instead of letting his anger out with something violent, he instead grabbed Jason and clutched him tightly to his chest. It spoke volumes about Jason’s character that, though he was a little uncomfortable with the hug, he recognized that it was something Dick needed and didn’t struggle. 

They were like that for only a few minutes before the door opened again, and another, very large, man led another kid inside. Dick released Jason with a quiet ‘sorry’ as the boy came out of the shadows of the door and immediately focused his eyes on the pair in front of him. Shock and happiness flickered across his face before it fell back into a blank, almost disinterested mask. But then his eyes met Bruce’s, and both were stunned into disbelieving shock. The reasons that Damian had, Bruce could only guess (and right now, he had a fairly _good one_ ). But Bruce couldn’t think about anything right now. His mind was stuck on hold, staring in what was almost horror at Damian.

 _Because that was a very familiar shade of green_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhh oops? i do in fact realize that it is currently 2021, a whole half a year after chapter 1. all i have to say is that i suck at 1)deadlines and 2) not procrastinating every single thing i ever do ever. so sorry to whoever's reading this, but uhh i'll try harder to update at least a little closer together next time. BUt also, thnk you to everyone who read chapter 1 and/or is continuing to read! it really does mean a lot to me that you all enjoy this!
> 
> also, i may have fallen into the bts fandom hole bc oml they're amazing,

**Author's Note:**

> Just a forewarning, I don't know how:
> 
> -9y/o's work  
> -kind of how school systems work  
> -adoption works  
> -children in general work  
> -Juvie works
> 
> Comments, Kudos, and Criticism is accepted (keep it constructive, though)! Would love to hear what you think! 
> 
> Also, if anyone has things they might want to see here in the future, feel free to share!


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